


The Opposite of A Morning O

by gala_apples



Series: More Than They Say We Are [4]
Category: Glee
Genre: Fights, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 08:57:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Puck doesn't get awesome morning sex because Finn's too busy rage-flipping tables.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Opposite of A Morning O

**Author's Note:**

> Because while I understand the whole Cory-Monteith-in-rehab thing, my first reaction to the family meeting in 4.21 was WHERE'S FINN? FINN CARES ABOUT BURT TOO!

Puck pulls out of Finn, keeping his grip tight on the edge of the condom. He’s never actually lost one inside someone, but it’s one of his worst sex nightmares. Finn shudders and Puck tries to distract him by patting out In A Gadda Da Vida on his back with three fingers of his free hand. He can tell it’s working when Finn snorts. It’s not singing along, but it’ll do.

The problem with having sex with someone as responsive as Finn is that he always complains about feeling hollow afterwards. Puck’s been around a few sexual blocks, experimented with numbers and places and power. The only thing he’s tried that could fix the problem is a plug, and he’s not sure if Finn will go for that. So far Puck’s stuck to fairly vanilla stuff with the guy, afraid to scare him off. Vanilla sex is better than no sex. Which leaves Puck with the problem and no solution. He can’t help but worry that if Finn thinks about it too much he’ll not want to bottom next time. Distraction is key.

He pulls off the condom with one hand and tosses it in what they’ve affectionately nicknamed the Boning Pail. It’s small trash can beside the bed that’s sole purpose it condom wrappers, used condoms, tissues, and baby wipes. Then he grabs one of said wipes and cleans up the lube as best he can without trying to get Finn to have a shower. There’s not a chance Finn would get up now, Puck won’t waste his breath suggesting it. 

Business done it’s time to get to the number two good thing about sex; the cuddling. It always put Puck’s random of the night to sleep, and Finn’s no different. No less than five minutes later Finn is snuffling, a lesser cousin of snoring. Puck isn’t all that sleepy, so he reaches for Finn’s phone. He’s got some pretty good game apps on it.

Despite always falling asleep on the outside, Puck usually wakes up on the left side of the bed. No doubt it has something to do with Finn’s pea sized bladder; if he’s not getting up at least once in the night to piss it’s because he hasn’t had something to drink since lunch. It doesn’t bother Puck. He’s a heavy sleeper, a product of having a little sister with both hair that knots when it’s so much as looked at, and a tendency to shriek at the slightest bit of pain. When Finn comes stumbling back into the room he just shoves Puck over so there’s room on the right edge for him to lay down. Or at least that’s what Puck assumes happens, he can never actually remember the scene in the morning.

Not only does it not bother Puck to be moved in the night, it actually has a kind of awesome side effect. Being trapped between Finn and the wall is enough to add desire to the naturally present morning wood. And that means that at least four days out of seven since they started this dating aspect of their broship Puck has good morning sex.

That’s not what happens now. Rather than vigorous sex Puck’s pretty sure the morning is going to hold nothing but misery. It’s easy to get that impression when he wakes to Finn hauling him and the blankets onto the floor, like a more complicated version of flipping a table. Finn’s never needed a positional advantage to seem tall, but with Finn standing and Puck fighting the blankets so he can at least prop himself on his elbows Finn’s a fucking giant.

Finn is completely apoplectic when he speaks. “You turned off my phone. Don’t even try to deny it, I never would have turned it off. Not today. You did it!”

“I’m...sorry?”

“I could fucking kill you Puck, I really fucking could.”

“I don’t understand what the big deal is.” If there’s anything Puck’s nineteen years have taught him it’s never be on the defense when you can go on the offense.

Finn puts the span of his hand over his eyes and squeezes with thumb and middle finger. “You need to get out of my face. Like, now.”

“What?”

“I want to punch you like thirty times. That might have been fine when you got Quinn pregnant and we were ex-friends, but now we’re dating and that’s abuse. So I seriously really _really_ need you to fuck off.”

“Uh.”

“If you love me at all you’ll fuck off.”

Puck didn’t think they were at the _I love you_ place yet, and this is a hell of a way to return the words, but he doesn’t want Finn doing something he can’t forgive himself for. Puck probably could forgive him -to him it doesn’t seem like Coach Bieste and Cooter’s domestic abuse, just a pissed off best friend- but if Finn will be devastated later he can’t push this by staying. 

Puck gets himself out of the blankets, grabs yesterday’s discarded jeans and shoes and exits. It’s all he really needs. He’s commando more often than not, which necessitates the pants. It’s April, too cold for bare feet, plus he’d never be allowed inside anywhere. But shirtless isn’t that big a deal. It can be played as a night gone wild, or just extreme self-confidence.

Puck’s been gone an hour and has managed to get a One Direction shirt from a giggling girl when his cell buzzes. **u can come back now**. Puck gets up immediately. This is the kind of thing you want settled ASAP, and to settle it you need to know what happened.

Finn’s still alone in the room when Puck lets himself in. He doesn’t know why he expected anything else. They’re not in McKinley anymore, there aren’t ten other teenagers and four adults trying to get on everyone’s business. But Puck’s known Finn for way longer than just high school, and like every other expression, he knows the one that’s on Finn’s face now. This is ‘you broke my toy that I actually stole from the dollar store on a dare, so I’m in a bad position to be angry but I’m angry anyway’. Which actually happened more than once when they were kids. 

Sure enough, Finn’s first words are “I’m still mad. But I should have explained last night. So it’s not really your fault.”

“What the fuck is up?”

“Today dad- Uh, Burt was getting his test results back. To see if he’s cancer free. Kurt came back from New York. All four of us were supposed to go. But without the alarm I slept through it.”

Puck shoves Finn. It’s automatic. They’ve been dealing with each other physically since childhood, and Finn is a fucking _dick_. “Why didn’t you say anything? I would have had you at the hospital or wherever twenty minutes early, fucknut!”

“It was just supposed to be us though. We weren’t supposed to bring college boyfriends. Kurt left Adam in New York, I don’t think I’ve even told Mom about you, unless it was one of those times she called at like eight am and I forget every word the second it’s outta my mouth.”

“So what’s the verdict?” Puck has to say it flippantly, because if he doesn’t cop an attitude he’s gonna freak. He’s not even a stepson, it’s not his place to freak out.

“I don’t know. I’ve had my phone in my hand for sixty five minutes and I haven’t even turned on the screen.”

“Fucking call them! Your mom, Burt, Kurt... whoever.”

“I can’t. What if-” Finn shudders. “What if it’s bad? I can’t hear that on the phone. At least if it was bad at the appointment I could have hugged Kurt and cried on his stupid designer shirt. I can’t hear bad on-”

Puck seizes him, grabs him by both arms like one of the throws Lauren taught him back in the day. “Stop panicking. We’re gonna put clothes on you, we’re gonna grab our wallets, and we’re gonna drive home and find them and find out. I can’t say it’ll be okay, although fuck do I hope, and you know that I’ve been going to temple about it. But I can definitely say that we can do this face to face, and that you’ll have someone to catch you if you gotta collapse.”

“Thanks, Puck. I mean- Christ. Thank you.”

Puck drops his hands to cross his arms. “No more manners, just pants. Get your pants.” If he ever becomes the kind of person that thinks he’s owed thanks for doing something so basic, for showing a shred of compassion, he hopes someone will shoot him in the face.

They’re holding hands when they leave the dorm room. Finn’s still shaking, a little, Puck can feel it in his fingers. He doesn’t clench tighter, doesn’t turn it into a mirror of their childhood thumb wars, just keeps his grip constant. He will until they’re in McKinley, or at the Hudmels, or the tire shop, or Blaine’s house, or wherever they’ll find Kurt to relay the medical information. And if any of the fucks that are looking at them nastily -because college or not, it’s still Ohio- says a word Puck will knock them out with his right hand, but he still won’t let go with his left. He can do Finn that much.


End file.
